


An Unexpected Journey to the West (Back and There Again)

by Tuskbuddy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Class Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Fluff, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Poor Bilbo, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuskbuddy/pseuds/Tuskbuddy
Summary: It began long ago, in a land far beyond the Misty Mountains: in Eriador, the Kindly West.In a bend of the placid Brandywine River lay the rich lands of the Shire. From forth the fertile lands came fruits and vegetables, flowers and grain, breweries flowing with ale and bakeries tempting passersby with decadent pies and pastries. Trade bustled within the agglomerated city-smials of Tuckborough, Hobbiton, and Michel Delving, rarely bothered by bandits and orcs. Though the Shire's residents were the meek and peaceful Hobbits, it was protected by the greatest kingdom of Middle-Earth: the Ered Luin, Stronghold of Thrór, King of the Twin Deeps.______the au where the journey begins where it ended. lots of worldbuilding, exploring divergences, and seeing how dwarves and hobbits aren't all that different in the end
Kudos: 2





	An Unexpected Journey to the West (Back and There Again)

It began long ago, in a land far beyond the Misty Mountains: in Eriador, the Kindly West.

In a bend of the placid Brandywine River lay the rich lands of the Shire. From forth the fertile lands came fruits and vegetables, flowers and grain, breweries flowing with ale and bakeries tempting passersby with decadent pies and pastries. Trade bustled within the agglomerated city-smials of Tuckborough, Hobbiton, and Michel Delving, rarely bothered by bandits and orcs. Though the Shire's residents were the meek and peaceful Hobbits, it was protected by the greatest kingdom of Middle-Earth: the Ered Luin, Stronghold of Thrór, King of the Twin Deeps.

  
Thrór ruled with surety, knowing his line lay secure with his son Thráin and grandson Thorin. Ah, the Blue Mountains! Unlike most Dwarven kingdoms, its great cities of Belegost and Nogrod had been flooded in the First Age. It was not until many millenia later that they found the riches beneath the waters. In the warmer waters of Nogrod, precious corals formed reefs like underwater gardens amidst beds of the finest sand. In cooler Belegost, shellfish thrive amid the mineshafts, creating pearls and beautiful shells unlike anything seen outside. The skill of Dwarves is unparalleled; they fashioned objects of great beauty from shell, nacre, and coral. Connecting the two cities was the Stained Glass Palace, made of sand and strengthened with melded metal. 

Ever they dove deeper, seeking more ancient gifts of the sea, when they found it: the Brooch of Nimphelos, the Heart of the Deeps, a rosette of fluorescent coral that cradles a large pearl, larger than its ancient namesake. Thrór took it as a sign of their mastery over the waters and named it the king's jewel. He claimed the water-fearing Shirefolk were under their kingdom's protection. In turnHe had all pay homage to it, even Círdan the Shipwright, Master of the Grey Havens of Lindon, and Arassuil, Chieftain of the Dunedain and head of the Rangers of the North.

  
But prosperity and peace was not to last.

  
Thrór's love of wealth grew until it became a sickness. Gold from all kingdoms flowed in, but none of bounties of the deeps was exchanged in return. Wealth piled up within its treasury, becoming a beacon for greedy hearts.  
And the most avaricious one could sense it, even from the Far North.

  
He came upon a hot, dry wind from the east. There was but one warning: the echoes of a bullroarer, buzzing with an untranslatable warning. The people knew the sound of orcs and goblins, of bandits and armies, of wraiths and trolls. It was none of those. This roar called out "fire" and "beast", alternating and merging them at once.

  
Many ignored this confusing warning, content to go about their day. Only those closest to the crier could hear the dreaded words:

  
_"Dragon!"_

  
The verdant fields of the Shire burned. The city-smials crumbled under the Firedrake Smaug, who fed upon its bounty and people. But this was just a stop along the way, for dragons covet gold and wealth above all.

  
The Dwarves of the Blue Mountains stood no chance against Smaug's might, unprepared to fight a beast so far from the Withered Heath. Many perished within the walls of the twin cities as the dragon nested within the Palace, claiming both as its domain. The survivors of the Shire and Ered Luin called out for help: for food, for healing, for shelter, for vengeance.

  
Only the first two were heard but only for a year; Círdan and Arassuil would not risk their few men and supplies against a dragon, nor to resettle so many.

  
And so the Hobbits and Dwarves wandered, two peoples laid low and forced into exile. Durin's Folk took to the towns of Men, underselling their wares while being overcharged for supplies. The Shire families were torn apart, forced into becoming hired farmhands toiling under the unbearable sun or mistreated house servants with no homes of their own.

  
The young Prince Thorin had be responsible for both children of the earth, and though he toiled alongside commonfolk each day, at night he reminisced about the scoured fields, of the reddened skies lit by burning forests, and the broken glory of two cities reflecting upon glass shards.

  
And he never forgave, and he never forgot.

* * *

  
_Dalebury, 170 years later_

  
"These won't be winning any prizes, but they'll do."

  
Bilbo Baggins wipes the sweat off his brow, looking upon his work. The last of his late spring seeds have been sown; he can look forward to summer tomatoes and squash at the soonest; the fall should have corn, beans, and pumpkins, all of which he can dry and store for the frigid northern snows.

  
That, of course, is only looking at his terrace garden, carved into the very hillside of his smial. Bag End is fortunate enough to have space for a garden at all, though its position next to the shade of the Dalebury city walls is a mixed blessing. Far too many times he's been disappointed to discover his plants starved of sun; only in summer can Bilbo fully appreciate the wall for keeping away the oppressive heat.

  
"Oh, dear... I do have the Ravenhill fields, and I know those pests won't fall for the usual scarecrows..." Bilbo ponders whether he should even bother with that. As useful as the ravens are for fast mail, they often helped themselves to seeds near their tower, and the rocky soil made for poor plantings. And then there's the three hour commute as well...

  
Still, he can't afford to be lazy. Every winter could be a Fell one if he was not careful. The Baggins family had been one of the hardest hit by Smaug—most of the clan perished in the Scouring of the Shire. His mother's side fared no better, with the Tooks losing both Michel Delving and Tuckborough in a great conflagration. All he has to show of their once-proud heritage is a smial slightly bigger than his neighbor's, though there was far more to be envious of with the Gamgees.  
And speaking of the family...

  
"Mornin' Sir!" Hamfast tips his straw hat at Bilbo, a trowel in his hand. The Gamgee green thumb is a force to be reckoned with—already Bell and Hamfast had a lovely harvest of peas, beets, and violets while Bilbo's plantings had been hurt by a late frost.

  
"Oh, none of that, Hamfast! Please, it's Bilbo. I'm no gentlehobbit, nor your employer, nor a stranger. We're friends, and friends call me Bilbo," he insists.

  
"Aww, shucks, S—I mean, Mister Bilbo," the gardener blushes. "I'm jus' tryin' to mind my manners. Treatin' people proper and polite's a right and good thing, and a free one at that."

  
Bilbo knows all too well how hard it is to find simple blessings for free. Medicine, food, comfort, clothes, safety... all of these had to be traded for, bartered with. The Dale was the Hobbits' one anchor, the one place they can come to find some sense of normalcy, but even that can change upon the whim of the Dwarves of Ered Mithrin, the Men of Long Lake, or the Elves of Mirkwood.

  
Smaug destroyed the clans of old; in their years of exile, somehow they regressed to the threefold division of Fallohide, Harfoot, and Stoor as they went their separate ways east. Not physically—though there were some features that stood out in some families, the blood of the old clans had long mixed in the Shire—but moreso culturally. 

  
The new Fallohides, mostly remnants from Northfarthing and the more adventurous Tooks and Brandybucks, had gone to the woods of the Trollshaws. Stoorish identity reconstituted itself along the swamps of Swanfleet from the Bucklanders, Eastfarthing dwellers, and Marish people. The Harfoots of Westfarthing, the Baggins chief among them, stuck with the Dwarves, settling in the foothills of Dunland.

  
Then came war. The Dwarves fought; the Hobbits fled. They arrived at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, at the mercy of the surrounding powers. The Elvenking granted the Fallohides homes upon the shores opposite of Loeglond, a port of the Raft-elves upon the Forest River, establishing Barrelgate; the Master of Lake-town granted the Stoors the swamped ruins of Old Esgaroth, turning it into Mithey; and in return for a portion of their food, the Grey Mountains granted to the Harfoots a valley protected by Erebor's flanks where they created the city-smial of Dalebury.

  
When Thorin came with those who saw war, it was with great pity that King Dain of the Grey Mountains granted Erebor to them, then a tiny mining settlement yet untapped. It flourished, for Erebor's riches were true—but with great wealth comes greater hunger. Erebor and the Dale were reminded they lived on rented land.

  
Bilbo, like most Hobbits, made enough money to purchase his needs, grew enough food to keep himself fed for three meals a day. Each year, he grew more plants, fertilized the land more richly, sold more surplus, but the margins remained slim, his saving always running low. He, like most Hobbits, was not thriving. He was surviving.

  
And survival for this year means dealing with an hour's walk to plant seeds along Ravenhill and praying to the Green Lady they don't eat everything.

  
"I ought to take care of my farther fields, Ham."

  
"The Acrowes?" the gardener looks toward the sun, shading his eyes. "It's an hour 'til lunch I reckon. Can offer a meat pie or sammy for an on-the-go lunch?" He looks at Bilbo with all the grace of a proper Hobbit.

  
Luckily, Bilbo was well-versed in giving the corresponding reply.

  
"Oh, I do appreciate the offer, Ham, really, but a missed meal is no big deal."

  
The Gamgees have growing faunts to feed; he can't possibly impose himself like that. Sure enough, Ham smiles and relaxes his shoulders at his declined invitation.

  
"Ah, another time then, Mister Bilbo."

  
"Should be off now, you take care." Bilbo waves.

  
"And you as well, Bilbo!" Hamfast shouts back. "And watch your way!"

  
"Watch my wh—?" The Hobbit's question is answered prematurely by a collision against a wall of gray cloth. Looking up, Bilbo finds himself staring into twinkling mischievous eyes.

  
"Master Baggins."

  
The Hobbit sighs. "Gandalf."

  
The Grey Wizard had been a fixture of his childhood. According to his mother's stories, he'd known his grandfather, the Old Gerontius Took, all the way back when they all lived in Barrelgate along with most of the Took Clan. As holders of the Thain title and thus head of the Bounders, she and her family were no strangers to skirmishes in the woods; there was only so much their Silvan neighbors could do, and things inevitably slipped past the Mirk Hedge now and then.

  
Belladonna and many of the other Fallohides had been eager participants in Gandalf's travels. When she returned one adventure without her brother Hildifons, the family was torn by grief. In an unprecedented case, Grandmother Adamanta called for divorce, taking Belladonna, Donnamira, and Mirabella with her to Dalebury. She reverted to the Chubb name but christened her daughters' lines as the Deltooks, removing them from the line of Thainship. Old Took was not about to be outdone, and so the Thain's line became the Haytooks.

  
That division did not stop Belladonna trying to reconnect the two halves of her family; indeed she was her father's favorite child, cultivating her passion for exploration. Only Bungo Baggins kept her coming back to Dalebury, and eventually back to Bag End with him. It wasn't until Bilbo was born that his mother finally stayed permanently. Gandalf was named his godfather to Bungo's displeasure and to the young Bilbo's great entertainment—for all the grief he gave, the wizard did have some impressive whizz-poppers.

  
Still, it has been some time since his last visit. Bilbo makes sure to mentions it.

  
Gandalf raises an eyebrow. "Not even a good morning? Whatever happened to Hobbit courtesy?"

  
Bilbo scoots past his robes, making his way toward the western gate of Dalebury, pointedly avoiding looking at Gandalf. "A good morning, like most greetings, is not as delightful when demanded of, yes? Still, I shan't forget my manners. So here you are, good morning, Gandalf."

  
"Ah, but what do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" the wizard's tone is light and teasing, but Bilbo is in no mood for riddles.

  
"Pardon, but a Hobbit's life is a busy one, Master Gandalf. There's time for comfort, but this is not it. Such frivolous talk is improper idleness." Never let it be said that he is not Bungo's son.

  
As they pass Hobbiton Gate, Bilbo sees two Shirriffs, the guards of Dalebury, eyeing Gandalf suspiciously. For a brief moment the Hobbit and Dwarf pair lock gazes with him, flicking towards the wizard. Bilbo tracks their eyes and softly shakes his head. The Shirriffs nod and continue their watch. He gets the hint well enough.

  
"Our schedules can't afford surprise visits from known Disturbers of the Peace, even if they are friends of the family. Now look! I'm late according to my schedule. Some of us value punctuality, you know."

  
Infuriatingly, Gandalf keeps pace, following right beside him. "You've changed, Bilbo Baggins, and not for the better."

  
"What do you _want_ of me, Gandalf?" Bilbo snaps, stopping at a crossroads. The sooner he can get rid of this wizard, the better. Might as well hear him out.

  
The wizard smiles, pleased to have his way. "I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."

  
"Ah, very well," Bilbo acknowledges.

  
"What say you then?"

  
The Hobbit snorts. "No, of course not. But I do wish you all the luck in finding the right man for it. Have you tried Erebor, just a stroll away? I believe a Dwarf would be a better traveling companion."

  
Gandalf grumbles something under his breath before speaking up, "Ah yes, then it is decided. I shall let the others know. This will do you a lot of good and be very amusing for me."

  
Bilbo glowers at the wizened old man, who pays him no mind as he walks away. "What? The others? Gandalf, what's going on? Gandalf? _Gandalf!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on AO3 and I eagerly look forward to sharing more of my work~
> 
> Since this is an start/end timeline swap (I honestly don't know if this AU type has a label), some locations have name changes. I have pulled information from the canon but also from LOTRO and MERP as well. These will be indicated accordingly.
> 
> [Canon] = [AU]
> 
> The Dale-lands (LOTRO) = The Dale  
> Dale = Dalebury  
> Esgaroth-of-Old (LOTRO) = Mithey  
> opposite bank of Loeglond (LOTRO) = Barrelgate  
> flatlands by Ravenhill = The Acrowes ("acres" + "crows")
> 
> Other Notes:  
> -When the Longbeards were forced from Moria by the Balrogs, rather than settle Erebor they moved to the Blue Mountains and restored the old capitals. Instead of moving to the Grey Mountains, they move to some successful delvings in the northern Misty Mountains and Angmar and reclaimed Gundabad, drawing the ire of the remnants of Witch-realm, orcs, and some Cold-drakes. Dain I falls; Thror moves back to the Twin Deeps; Gror settles the Iron Hills and then finds success in the Grey Mountains  
> -The Dwarves are more scattered in this 'verse: the Ered Luin kingdom also holds power over the Broadbeams in the northern Blue Mountains under the Lord of Dwarrowvale/Khazadbizar (MERP: Nan-i-Naugrim) and the Firebeards in the south under the Lord of Aldhallow/Zahar-gamil (MERP: Tumnogoth Iaur); the Ered Mithrim Kingdom has the Iron Hills and Erebor as lordships  
> -Same with Hobbits: in addition to the Dalefolk, you have the Breefolk who lived there originally + refugees; the Shawfolk (Fallohides) who stayed around the Trollshaws; the Fleetfolk (Stoors) who stayed around Swanfleet and Tharbad; and finally the Coombfolk (Harfoots) of Thror's Coombe in Dunland  
> -The path traveled will be more or less the same: Dale>Laketown>Mirkwood>Beorn>Misty Mountains>Rivendell>Bree>Shire>Ered Luin


End file.
